Queens of the Hill
by Firewatcher's Daughter
Summary: March 1997. A case takes Jethro Gibbs, Ducky Mallard and Jenny Shepard to the east of Scotland. Between misunderstood cultures, Robin Hood-worthy behaviour, and local prejudices, the waters of what should be a standard open-and-shut investigation are muddied and deep. However, when it all goes awry, will it strengthen or weaken the relationships they hold dear?


**March 18****th****, 1997**

**The roadside  
Montreathmont Forest  
Angus  
Scotland**

"We're going the wrong way!" Jenny Shephard protested. "This is the wrong road. We should be going north, not east."

Jethro Gibbs didn't give an answer. God, that was infuriating; was it too much to ask that he at least acknowledged her concerns? Pain in the ass. They were going to end up lost in the depths of Scotland, all because he refused to pull over and look at a damn map. They could even have stopped at the farm a mile back and asked for directions if not for his stupid macho pride.

She didn't even want to be here. She hadn't volunteered to be dragged to Scotland to investigate a car accident. Ducky had only come for the visit to Scotland. The only one who wanted to go to the military base was Jethro, and yet he refused to ask for directions.

A shout from the back of the car brought Jenny out of her silent frustration. "Stop, Jethro!" called Ducky.

At that, Gibbs did an emergency stop. Of course he did. Not to roll her eyes burned up a significant portion of the self-control she had left to her. When she looked out the window, she saw immediately why Ducky had called out.

On the side of the road, there was a clearing Jenny assumed must have been a car park at the edge of the woods. Now that the car had stopped, she saw two girls of about twelve and fifteen running across the gravel towards them. Jethro rolled his window down. The girls did not hesitate, but they looked past him to Jenny. "Missus, please come and help us!" the older girl said. Her accent was thick, like no other Scots accent Jenny had ever heard.

"What's wrong?" she asked them.

"It's our sister," the younger girl said. "Her baby's coming but there's something wrong and-"

"Okay, okay, calm down," Jenny said. "If I come with you, is there anywhere my friend can go to use a phone?"

"There's a farm about a mile that way," said the eldest. There was a deep mistrust in her eyes, outweighed only by her fear and desperation to help her sister. Jenny noticed that she wore oil-stained jeans and hiking boots; most adolescent girls wouldn't be caught dead like that. The younger girl had wild, unruly blonde hair that seemed to drown her face. Perhaps it would have done, if not for the cobalt eyes that pierced through them all.

Jenny glanced at Jethro. "Take Ducky with you," he said. "I'll go to that farm and call for an ambulance."

Ducky got out of the car; the girls looked at him warily. "I'm a doctor," he said reassuringly. "I can help you."

The girls allowed it. "I'm Jenny," she said as she closed the car door. She glanced at Gibbs. She knew he was unhappy about this; they were already expected somewhere else, but what were they supposed to do? Leave a labouring woman alone in the woods with only children to help her?

"And I am Donald, but you may call me Ducky. Everyone does," he added with a smile; they began to cross the gravel clearing.

"Isabella," the older child said brusquely.

"I'm Charlotte," said the younger. She was less abrupt, but no less defensive. It was strange to behold.

"Where is your sister?" asked Ducky.

"In the camp," Isabella said. "I was trying to fix the van so I could drive her to the Infirmary – they've got a maternity unit – but the bloody diesel pump is gone in it. The thing'll no' start."

The word 'camp' puzzled Jenny; it didn't sound like a camping trip as she understood it. She chose not to comment on the fact that Isabella looked far too young to drive, as well. "Don't you have any adults with you?" she said.

"Only my auntie and my two cousins, but they're all away working. It'd take too long to get hold of them," said Charlotte.

On the side of the dirt track was a blue Ford Transit van with its hood up, a campfire, and a tunnel-like canvas tent. "She's in the back of the van," Isabella said. "We got her in there just in case we got it fixed."

And sure enough, the back doors to the van were open, and Jenny could hear a panting from inside. Jenny went to look; she kept in mind that this might be a trap, despite how unlikely that outcome was. That was part of spending so much time with Gibbs, that near-paranoia that nothing was as it seemed. She remembered what he said about coincidences and momentarily wondered if this feel into that category.

She looked inside to find a young woman of about nineteen or twenty, pregnant to what was surely full-term, with her knuckles white around the blankets underneath her. "What's your name, dear?" Ducky said.

The woman glared at him for asking. "Rosealeen," she growled at him.

Ducky stepped up to enter the van but Rosealeen stopped him with a snarl of, "No men!"

"He's a doctor, Rose," Charlotte said. "Please, just let him in. He wants to help."

Rosealeen glowered at Ducky but eventually nodded. He jumped up into the van; Jenny followed him. "How far apart are your contractions?" he asked her.

She tightened her grip on the blankets again and let out a low moan. They waited until the contraction ended – Jenny caught Ducky timing it against his watch – before Rosealeen said, "I don't know! Ten, twelve minutes?!"

Jenny grimaced. The girl had such self-control for someone so young.

"What makes you think there's a problem with the labour?" asked Jenny.

"Her waters didn't look right when they broke," said Isabella. "Looked kind of gunky. Smelled horrible."

"How long have you been in labour, Rosealeen?" said Ducky.

"Since yesterday morning," she panted. "Auntie Lizzie said a long labour is normal the first time."

Ducky reached over and felt Rosealeen's pale forehead. "Perhaps," he said, moving to check her pulse, "but you're running a fever, your heart is beating too fast and your amniotic fluid definitely should not be as your sister describes it."

He hopped back out of the van and beckoned for Jenny to do the same. Isabella followed them around to the side of the van. "From my limited examination, I believe your sister has an intra-amniotic infection, Isabella," he said. "It's very important we get her to a hospital as soon as we can, particularly as she has been in labour for over twenty-four hours. She may need a Caesarean section."

"Will she be okay?"

"Complications do happen, but with the right care she should recover. Both she and the baby need to be in hospital."

Isabella was now nearly as pale as her fever-stricken sister.

Ducky turned to Jenny. "Jennifer, would you stay with Rosealeen and Isabella while Charlotte and I wait for the ambulance? They'll need to be led to this place."

Jenny had not expected that. "But you're a doctor! Wouldn't it be better if-"

"She would be more comfortable with a woman," he said gently, "and we need to keep her as calm as possible." He turned back to Isabella. "We need to let your sister's husband know what's going on."

Isabella looked sheepish. "She isn't married," she said. "She's got a man but the bairn's no his. She took up with him about six months ago."

"Well, we need to let _him_ know," said Jenny kindly; she didn't want embarrassment to add to their difficulties. It was 1997, not 1947.

"He'll be at the military base," said Isabella quickly. "American Navy lad, stationed up at Edzell."

Jenny exchanged a quick look with Ducky. "We can contact him when the ambulance gets here. What's his name?"

"Christopher. Christopher Shanks. I think he's some sort of intelligence officer."

Ducky looked straight at Jenny now; what were they meant to do? "Okay," Jenny said hesitantly. "That's fine. We'll go and sit with Rosealeen, and Ducky and Charlotte will go and meet the ambulance."

Isabella nodded and went back to her sister without another word. "Ducky," Jenny said, her voice an urgent whisper. "Don't you think we ought to tell Rosealeen-"

"That her boyfriend is dead?" Ducky hissed back. "While she's in labour? I wouldn't recommend it."

Her stress levels increasing by the minute, Jenny returned to Rosealeen and Isabella, while Ducky gestured for Charlotte to accompany him to the edge of the wood. From what Isabella had said, Jenny could only assume they did not know Christopher Shanks was dead. "What's wrong with me?" Rosealeen said. She was such a harsh girl, or perhaps that was only because she was in severe pain.

"The doctor says you've got an infection, Rose," Isabella said.

"Don't worry," Jenny chipped in, taking Rosealeen's sweaty hand. "We'll get you to a hospital and you'll be alright."

"What about the baby?"

"I'm sure both you and your baby will get the best care," Jenny said. It was a mere echo of Ducky's reassurances, but it was all she could give Rosealeen right now. "Why are you out here in the woods?"

"We're Travellers," said Isabella. Rosealeen groaned in pain. Jenny was sure it wasn't a contraction, but it obviously wasn't pleasant.

"Travellers?"

Rosealeen snorted. "Christopher was the same when he heard that. Thought we were bloody hippies." She propped herself up on her elbows, panting a little. "I suppose you'd call us gypsies. Christopher says there's Roma folk over there, but we're not the same people."

This was news to Jenny, but then she'd never had any need to interact with gypsies; it wasn't surprising that she was unaware of their presence on her doorstep.

It was hard to keep quiet, but Jenny followed Ducky's advice and didn't let the girls know what had happened to Christopher. He was right, she supposed: there was a time and a place for these things, and in the middle of a complicated labour in the back of a van was neither. Rosealeen didn't say much more until another contraction took her over and she nearly broke Jenny's hand; Jenny grimaced but didn't say anything about it. She could have sworn she caught Isabella smirking, though.

Rosealeen seemed to be getting weaker, so Jenny tried to keep her talking. "So where are your parents?"

"Don't know where Ma is," Rosealeen said. "She's got a habit of going missing. Da died two years ago."

Jenny swallowed a lump in her throat. "I lost my father two years ago as well," she said, "so I know the feeling."

Rosealeen allowed her a small sympathetic smile. "Auntie Lizzie took us in. Uncle Henry's two as well – they both died in a farming accident," she explained breathlessly. "Idiot boy was drunk, crashed the tattie dresser into a dyke. He survived, I lost my Da, and my uncle and his wife." The bitterness was unmistakeable in her voice. "Christopher's gonnae marry me, though," she added with a smile. "We can be a proper family. It won't be as hard a life with a working man."

She almost told them. It was excruciating to lie to them by omission, but she reminded herself that it was for Rosealeen's own good.

"He says the base is closing, and he's going to quit when his contract finishes," she continued. "He might even come out on the road with us."

Jenny, of course, knew that the base was being phased out of operation. That had been announced two years ago. However, Christopher was going nowhere but into a grave.

A vehicle approached. Jenny jumped out of the van and found an ambulance with Charlotte running alongside it. Behind that ambulance was Gibbs in the car. Jenny met the paramedic who hopped out of the passenger's seat. "Rosealeen is in the back of the van over there," she said, pointing at the blue Transit. "She's getting weaker."

"Okay," said the paramedic. "Thanks."

"Where will you take her?"

"Ninewells," said the paramedic.

Jenny nodded and ran over to Gibbs, who was just getting out of the car. "We've got a problem," she said quietly when she reached him.

"What's the problem?"

"Our dead Lance Corporal was the pregnant girl's boyfriend."

All Jenny got was the Gibbs stare.

"None of them know he's dead."

_That_ got a reaction. "A place like this, you'd think everybody would know about a fatal car crash," he said. "Do these girls live under a rock or something?"

"Might as well," said Jenny. "They're Travellers. Gypsies. I guess they must be quite insular."

"They should still know about a car crash," Gibbs said. "They must be lying, Jen."

"I don't think they are. We didn't tell them Shanks is dead. They're talking about him like he's still alive."

Gibbs frowned at her but said nothing more than, "Get in the car. I'll get Ducky and we'll get to the base."


End file.
